


If It Harms Beavers, We're Against It

by dinolaur



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-28
Updated: 2015-05-28
Packaged: 2018-04-01 17:05:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4027942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dinolaur/pseuds/dinolaur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a post-mission road trip through Texas, Steve and Natasha discover a convenient store that is very relevant to their interests.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If It Harms Beavers, We're Against It

They probably could just fly home.

It would certainly be easier, especially after they stumble their way out of the HYDRA hideout, covered in dust and sweat and blood. But Natasha casually suggests road tripping back, and Steve doesn't mind the break. So they confirm mission success, let Sam and Bucky know they are safe and slowly on the way home, and get a car.

The first thing they do is find a motel in Odessa long enough for a shower and power nap, and then they set out across West Texas. It's dry and dusty. The grass is mostly brown, and it's very obvious which lawns are cared for with extensive fertilizers and sprinkler systems.

Midland is only a half hour out, and in that time they play twenty-seven rounds of Rock, Paper, Scissors to decide on heading towards Austin or Dallas. Natasha wiggles down into her seat and throws her legs up onto the dash with a wide grin.

"We've been over this," Steve says.

"We didn't borrow this car. We rented it. Paid for it with real money, added the insurance, the works," Natasha argues. "We could do donuts in a parking lot."

They head east on 158, and the sign reads 315 miles to Austin. Steve polishes off his coffee and asks for a snack from the bag Natasha brought out of the gas station. "What's your poison," she asks.

"Surprise me," he says. She takes out Funyuns for him and two Moon Pies for herself. "Do we have any drinks in there? These are salty as fuck."

"Language," Natasha chides. She pulls out two bottles of Coke. They are the name bottles. One has his and the other hers. "Which one do you want?"

"If I pick yours, are you going to make a sex joke every time I take a sip," he asks.

"You know me so well," she answers fondly, handing her bottle over.

The scenery gets a little greener as they head towards the center of the state, rocky outcrops now half hidden behind oaks and cedars. Tapping away at her phone, Natasha says, "There's a lot of construction icons on 71."

"Is there another route," Steve asks.

"No," Natasha says dryly. "This state has--hang on." She taps some more on her phone, and Steve sees her pulling up Wikipedia. "This state is almost 270,000 square miles, and there is only one route into its capital city." He gives her a look, and she matches it.

They loop around through Lampassas and Cedar Park. "South," Natasha says as they approach the exit for the interstate.

"We should stop for real food," Steve says.

"It's a college town," Natasha says. "They've probably got more greasy burgers than you can shake a stick at."

She has that little smile that says she is making fun of him for being old, so he feels it's necessary to comment, "You have never once heard me say that, and you know it. You're better than this."

She makes a mocking face and continues scrolling through her phone. "The internet says this Hopdoddy place is one of the best in the country, but the line is almost always out the door. Reviews say it's worth it."

And Steve is fine with that until they come to dead stop traffic on I-35. They don't move for ten minutes, and Steve finally yells, "What is happening?"

"Oh shit," Natasha says, still on her phone. "We have made a huge mistake."

"How huge," Steve asks. "Is there a bad wreck?"

Natasha grimaces and reads off, "Study shows that traffic in Austin, Texas worse than New York City."

"Oh shit," Steve echoes. "That seems wrong, but still. Shit."

The traffic doesn't improve. They come up to a section where the highway splits, certain exits heading up a ramp and others staying down at ground level. For a shining moment, they think the problem will alleviate, or at least lessen. It doesn't. Steve lets out a loud, frustrated groan and hits his head on the steering wheel.

"I want to shoot something," Natasha says lowly.

"Don't," Steve orders. "That'll just make the traffic worse."

"Turn off here," Natasha finally cries. "I can't take it. We'll find another way to the burger place."

"How about a different burger place entirely," Steve grumbles. "I don't want to wait in line anymore."

It's still a fight driving through the city, but at least the cars are actually moving some. Natasha finds a place just off the university campus, and they tumble out of the car. "This looks suitably rundown," she comments as they head to the back patio.

The waiter comes by to take their order. "Three triple meat, triple cheese, bacon burgers," Steve says. "Fries, onion rings, and a vanilla malt."

The waiter raises a brow and turns to Natasha. "Triple meat, cheese, bacon also," she says. "With a fried egg. Fries. And do you have ranch?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Much ranch," she says. "And your biggest beer. I don't care what brand."

"Same," Steve adds.

The waiter laughs a bit. "Rough day," he asks.

"We just got off I-35," Steve starts, and the waiter looks at his watch and winces.

"Y'all more than deserve this," he says with heavy sympathy. He goes off to place the order and returns very promptly with the food. They devour it, after Natasha sends pictures to Clint (he responds as expected with an angry FaceTime and hangs up when Natasha just silently takes a huge, slow bite).

Back in the car, Steve asks, "How do we get to Houston without having to get on an interstate again? I've lost my ability to trust."

Natasha's thumbs fly over her phone and for a few minutes she grumbles, "No, no, you stupid--I don't want to get on 35. OK, take a left out of here." The traffic on the roads really isn't much improvement from the highways. "Seriously, what is this place? Why are there so many people?"

"You're the one who wanted to drive home," Steve says through his teeth, throwing his arms in the air when they miss a light because the car in front of them is afraid to punch it. "And why did we decide to go this way?"

"I want to go through New Orleans," Natasha answers.

"If we'd gone north, we could be in Six Flags by now," Steve complains.

"You jump out of planes without a parachute," Natasha says. "How is a roller coaster anything after that?"

Two more hours, and the sun dips down the horizon. "We need a gas station," Steve says, eyeing the gage. "That's actually pretty impressive it got us this far without filling up."

Steve pulls the car up to a pump. Blearily he swipes the card and starts the gas. On the other side of the car, Natasha stretches out the kinks in her spine. She looks up at the large sign hanging over the frontage road. "What's with the beaver," she ponders.

Steve shrugs. "I need the bathroom and coffee. You want anything or are you going in too?"

"In," Natasha says, and they turn to head into the store. They both stop short. "Боже мой," she whispers.

Neither had noticed pulling in, but the convenient store is called Buc-ee's.

Slowly they turn to look at each other, wide smiles stretching their lips. Steve lets out a shrill cry of delight that he is absolutely fine with the entire world knowing he made. Natasha dances on the balls of her feet for just a second, clapping gleefully. Steve reaches for her hand and runs for the doors. They stop short again. There is a statue of the beaver mascot that is taller than Natasha. "Where is your phone," Steve demands. Natasha already has it out.

After several selfies, they finally make it inside. "Whoa," Steve whistles, impressed. It's a large store, crowded, full of merchandise, and very clean. "They have a deli," he says, pointing. "And a computer ordering system? What is this place?"

"My new heaven," Natasha says when she meets Steve outside the bathrooms a few minutes later.

He looks over towards the women's door with an awed sort of expression. "What's it like in there," he asks. "Because I've never seen a cleaner public bathroom, and the women's ones are always nicer than the men's."

One side of the store is all snacks and food, and, basket in hand, they head there first. They dig through the Coke selection, finding as many James bottles as possible. Steve grabs the attention of a nearby girl, who stares in open awe when he asks if she will take their picture. "You're--" she starts, but snaps her mouth closed and takes Natasha's phone. By the end, she is giggling, and after handing the phone back, she whirls on an older boy, presumably her brother, and says, "I told you. I freaking told you. Captain America and Black Widow take dumb pictures and Instagram them. You don't get to judge my selfies anymore."

The store has brand candies and snacks, and they load up on jerky and gummy worms and cherry sours and trail mix and something called beaver nuggets. Across the way are souvenirs, and everything is plastered with the beaver mascot. They grab t-shirts, mugs, pajamas, hats, stickers, magnets, Christmas ornaments, and bobble heads.

"What is the deal with this beaver," Steve asks.

"I don't know," Natasha says. "But apparently this place only exists in Texas, and I am suddenly very offended by it. We need to bring James here."

Even after years out of the ice, Steve is still a little uneasy with inflation, but as the wide-eyed cashier lists off the total price of their purchase, he firmly says, "Worth it."

"Do we have to go to New Orleans," Steve asks as they head back to the car, both their arms overloaded with bags. "I want to get this stuff to Bucky immediately."

"We have too many guns and knives to get on a plane," Natasha says.

"Quinjet," Steve whines.

"Patience," Natasha says, taking a big sip of Icee from her 52 ounce mug. "I just need to do one thing to fuck with Clint."

"What's the furthest out of your way you've gone to mess with him," Steve asks curiously.

"The answer will either greatly impress or disgust you," Natasha says.

(The thing, as it turns out, is Natasha walks into a specific bar and orders a frozen hurricane drink that comes in a novelty beer bottle that is nearly the size of her torso. She sits in a chair, wraps her limbs around it, and has Steve take a picture. She posts it and tags Clint. Within seconds she gets a long series of emoji that seem to be expressing both extreme distress and jealousy. "It kicked his ass last time we were here," she explains. "Like imagine the most worthless hangover you've ever witnessed and multiply it times a hundred.")

They had been planning on continuing to drive along the coast, but at the prospect of delivering their goods, they cut a more direct route. It's one more full day of travel before they drop the rental car off and grab a cab back to their brownstone. On the sidewalk outside, they dig through the bags, hurrying to pull on a terrible assortment of shirts, pants, and hats.

"What the fuck," Sam asks when they walk in.

Bucky stares, silently appalled. Fashion, being well dressed, means so much to him, and to see two of the people he loves the most standing there in mismatched prints and fanny packs, well.

"We got you souvenirs in Texas," Steve says happily, and Natasha stuffs a cowboy hat with the logo on top of his head. Bucky looks like he is either going to kill them or drop dead himself.

"This is bizarre," Sam says, pulling shirt after shirt from the bags.

"This one is yours," Steve says, handing him a tie dye monstrosity.

Natasha is still pulling things from her fanny pack. Bucky's arm is now covered in various magnets. _Peace, Love, Beavers. I Break For Beavers. Cleanest Bathrooms In Texas._ She regards the sticker that says _Beaver Tested Beaver Approved_ for a moment and eyes Bucky up and down.

"Don't you dare," he says.

She rolls her eyes. "Steve censors bad language words, and even he lets me make all the sex jokes I want. You prude."

Bucky puts up a token resistance to the merchandise, but eventually it becomes a thing around the house. They use the stuffed animals as pillows on the couch. Notices on the refrigerator are held up with the magnets. The unused stickers become bookmarks, and Steve's portfolio folder is plastered with others. The singing beaver ornament is the first up on the Christmas tree (followed immediately by the Christmas Pickle). Natasha and Steve bring their big mugs around to meetings. Bucky runs in his sweat pants enough that the things don't last too long. He holds them up for inspection, distressed, when they finally rip too much to be ignored. "Road trip," Steve and Natasha declare.

The ensuing Instagram and Twitter updates result in #BuceeingAvengers trending and Maria Hill calling them with a longsuffering PR lecture.

**Author's Note:**

> It's kind of dumb how many stories my family has from Buc-ee's stops. That place is an institution. 
> 
> Also, to anyone who might like some visual accompaniment to the story: http://41.media.tumblr.com/43b693d4c144c0a2adc9cf11085abad1/tumblr_n9630ybYBe1ro7pieo9_1280.jpg


End file.
